


Adamantine

by fannishliss



Series: Kink List [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bondage, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Caning, Dom Steve Rogers, Flogging, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Paddling, Punishment, Punishment as Mental Health, True Love, kink list, non-standard after care for super soldiers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky got like this, when he slept less and less, picked mechanically at his food, and carried out Steve’s orders like (it hurt Steve even to think it) like the Asset — Steve knew what he had to do, and how he had to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adamantine

**Author's Note:**

> Caning is on my Kink List, and right after Bondage, ankles wrists and other. Bondage is a such a sweet kink and Caning is so Heavy. So I just went for it. 
> 
> I am committed to writing all these kinks, and to showing them as expressions of the love between Bucky and Steve. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> One more note: you will see that I have Chosen Not to Use Archive Warnings. I have two reasons for this. One, I think it's pretty clear that with The Winter Soldier, terrible violence is always just under the surface. Two, I don't think BDSM, even when it's this hardcore, is the same as violence. 
> 
> Read the tags please and make your own best call.

Steve always knew when it was coming.  He could see it, like heavy clouds on the horizon. He could feel it, that impending sense of a storm, that little pain of tension in his temples.  
  
He could see Bucky’s eyes lose their sparkle, his gaze drifting away.  
  
Steve told himself it would get easier, but secretly, he knew it wouldn’t.  For all that he could enjoy giving orders, taking control of different parts of Bucky’s life, even —or if he were honest, he should say, especially — in the bedroom, this was the hard part.    
  
But for Bucky, he mastered it.   For Bucky, he made it work.  Anything for Bucky.  
  
So when Bucky got like this, when he slept less and less, picked mechanically at his food, and carried out Steve’s orders like (it hurt Steve even to think it) like the Asset — Steve knew what he had to do, and how he had to do it.  It was love, Steve swore to himself  —maybe it didn’t look like it, or didn’t always feel like it — but it was, love adamantine.  
  
“Bucky,” Steve said.    
  
Bucky raised his head. The television was on, very quiet, something about lions.  Bucky was staring past it, unseeing, unmoving, just sitting on the couch while the moments ticked past.  
  
“Come here,” Steve ordered.    
  
Bucky breathed out and stood.  He was so beautiful, even like this, that he took Steve’s breath away: his hair, gleaming, carefully brushed back; his serum enhanced physique, the height of human perfection —  but his face was too empty, his posture too erect.    
  
Steve held out his hand and Bucky took it.  Steve led him to their bedroom, where he’d prepared their things.    
  
Steve watched Bucky closely as he took in the bench and the chains, the paddles, the crop and the cane.  
  
“You need this, Bucky?” Steve couldn’t keep the question out of his voice, even now.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky sighed.  “I do.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve said. “I’ll take care of you, Bucky.  I swear.”  
  
Bucky didn’t answer.  When he got like this, words didn’t come easy.  But Steve had no trouble reading the pain and guilt in his eyes, and the way his shoulders hung a little looser already, now that Steve was stripping off his clothes and positioning him on the bench.  
  
“Do you need the chains?” Steve asked.  
  
“Yes, please, Stevie,” Bucky nodded.    
  
Steve carefully secured Bucky’s wrists and ankles in padded cuffs and chained them to the specially reinforced punishment bench.  He’d tried it himself, and so far, neither one of them had managed to wreck it.    
  
“I love you, Bucky,” Steve said, as he chained Bucky down.  “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”  
  
He started with a flogger, just warming the skin of Bucky’s back.  Bucky held so tense and tight, it was important to break him in, so he could really start to let go.  The heavy tails of the flogger would have been too much for most people, but not for Bucky.  Steve gave it to him hard enough to redden the skin, hard enough so Bucky would feel it, increasing the speed and strength of the lash until Bucky was ready for more.    
  
Steve surveyed Bucky’s back and ass and thighs — nicely reddened and beginning to relax.  “You look so good like this, Bucky — you’re doing so well.  Are you with me?”  
  
Steve knew Bucky was still there, but he wanted Bucky to say it.  
  
“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky murmured.  He sounded a little better, more alive, than he had before.     
  
Steve picked up his favorite paddle.  It was leather and made a lovely slapping sound that did some kind of magic inside Bucky’s head.  The give of the leather hurt, but the sound was even more effective.    
  
Bucky groaned, deep in his throat, as Steve focused on Bucky’s ass with the paddle.  The groans got a little louder as Bucky began to squirm, and then, at last, to arch up into the strokes.  He was starting to feel it.  
  
“That’s my good boy, Bucky,” Steve murmured.  “Don’t hold it in — I wanna hear you, Bucky, that’s the way.”  
  
Bucky gave a loud cry on the next hit, and then the cries came in earnest.  Steve swung, in a heavy rhythm, and Bucky let it out.    
  
Bucky’s ass was fiery red by the time Steve lay aside the paddle.     
  
“How ya doing,” Steve asked.  
  
Bucky looked at Steve, red eyed and tear faced, but he was still choking back his sobs, and hadn’t really let go.    
  
“Okay — baby, you’re doing great,” Steve soothed.  “The crop.”  
  
Bucky nodded, breath still hitching.    
  
Steve offered Bucky the crop to kiss.  The sight of those beautiful red lips kissing the crop that Steve was about to lay into him with, was almost too much for Steve, but he straightened, let his breath out, and planned his strokes.    
  
“I need you to count for me, Bucky,” Steve said.  
  
The counting often tipped Bucky over — just the round numbers.  Steve wondered how high they’d have to go.  The serum protected Bucky and Steve both from too much damage from this type of beating — but if Steve did it right, he could keep Bucky on the right edge of a pain that would, eventually, break him open and let his tears come spilling out.    
  
Steve lay into Bucky with the first ten strikes, raining them down in a pattern, really wanting Bucky to feel it.  Bucky dutifully counted the first ten without even pausing for breath, Steve was swinging so fast.    
  
The second ten, Steve slowed down a little, and Bucky began to falter.  
  
The third ten, Steve gave slower, harder, a little out of rhythm, pausing to break up Bucky’s breathing.  
  
The fourth and fifth tens, Steve struck here, and there, completely at random, waiting for Bucky’s count, but striking when he wanted to.  
  
Bucky’s bruises were already starting to heal — Steve, in effect, had to keep up. He began to go a little faster, a little harder, but still refused to stay in a rhythm.  Bucky’s backside was mottled now — red and white, bruised and healing — it stung, and Steve knew it, and gave him a little more.  
  
They were well over a hundred strikes with the crop when Bucky at last, lost the count, sobbing and crying.    
  
“That’s it,” Steve crooned.  “Let it go for me, Bucky, you can do it, that’s so good.”  
  
“No,” Bucky sobbed.  
  
“A little more then,” Steve said.  “Here we go.”  
  
Steve raised the crop and set to, listening to Bucky’s breathing, his hitching cries, touching the hot, abused flesh, feeling where it was cool and striking wherever there was a chance to make pain blossom.  Steve lost himself in the dance with the crop, so deeply in tune with Bucky’s responses, that everything else fell away.  
  
“Steve, Steve, Stevie,” Bucky was chanting, his voice cracked and raw.  His body shook with heavy sobs, and Steve lay aside the crop.  
  
“You’re ready, now, Bucky,” Steve said. “You don’t deserve this, sweetheart, I promise, but I know you think you need it. So, I’m going to give it to you.”  
  
Steve picked up the cane.  
  
Bucky sighed, deep and full, shuddering on the exhale.  
  
“Thank you, Stevie,” he said.  His body shivered and he breathed deep again, almost fully relaxed.    
  
Steve knelt down and kissed Bucky’s hot, sweaty face, his wet, sad lips.  Bucky was there, he was in there, he just needed a little bit more.  
  
“I love you,” Steve said, and he stood up, and swung the cane down.    
  
The crack of the cane was awful.  Bucky gave a cry. Steve did it again, and again, and again — and again, until at last, Bucky was crying, an easy, open cry, loose sobs tearing free and letting out the poison, the terrible grief and regret of his unforgetting brain.    
  
“Good, that’s good, Buck, let it out,” Steve said, kneeling down to undo the cuffs.    
  
“Oh Stevie, oh god, I’m so sorry, thank you, sorry, so sorry,” Bucky sobbed.    
  
At last his tears slowed down, and Steve helped him sit up. Bucky gathered him in, hiding his face against Steve’s stomach, breath still hitching from sobs.    
  
Then, he was nuzzling in, finding Steve’s dick, coaxing it awake, sucking Steve into his hot, heavenly mouth.    
  
Steve shed his tee shirt and let Bucky push down his shorts.   He took Bucky’s head in his hands, pulling his hair a little the way Bucky liked, and let himself thrust into the back of Bucky’s throat until he was good and hard.  
  
Then he pulled Bucky up.  “Who do you belong to?”  
  
“You, Stevie,” Bucky said. His eyes, at last, were peaceful and clear.    
  
“Who?”  
  
“To you, Steve —and to myself,” Bucky said with a sigh.  
  
“That’s right,” Steve praised. “Lay back down.”  
  
Bucky smiled up at Steve, a little, peaceful smile, and lay back down on the padded bench,  spreading his knees wide for Steve.   The bruises from the caning were dark and violent, not yet healing.  There were a few flecks of blood from cuts that had already closed. Steve kept his focus on the fact that the beatings helped Bucky let go, to get his mind back from the guilt over things he’d never chosen to do.  
  
Now, it was time for a different kind of reset.  
  
Steve lubed up his fingers and offered Bucky one, two, three.  Bucky opened up, already so relaxed. When his fingers were moving in and out freely, Steve pulled them free and pressed inside of Bucky, who let out a low, happy groan.    
  
The bench was a little low, but Steve made do. Bucky took his punishments there, and Steve wanted to reinforce that the beatings were only, always, given in love.     
  
Steve brought Bucky to the edge, and slowed, and pulled out.  
  
“Steve,” Bucky panted, wanting, but trusting.  
  
Steve pulled him up, and lay back onto the bed. Bucky straddled him and reached around to get Steve back inside him.  His sinuous movements were almost as beautiful as he felt around Steve’s cock.    
  
“Yeah, oh Bucky, so beautiful,” Steve praised. “Oh, you feel so good.”  
  
“Touch yourself, Bucky,” Steve ordered. “I want to see it. Slow — slower!!”  
  
Bucky groaned as Steve made him tease himself, rocking up and down with Steve hard inside him, his own cock leaking and pulsing in his hands but completely at Steve’s mercy.  
  
Steve watched the weeping red head appear and disappear in Bucky’s grip.    
  
“Kiss me, Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky leaned down.  His hot, desperate lips, and nibbling kisses fired Steve up more than anything, pushing Steve closer to the edge.  
  
“You ready?” Steve asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky gasped.  
  
“Ask me,” Steve prompted.  
  
“Please, Stevie, I wanna come,” Bucky said.  
  
“You think I oughta let you come?” Steve demanded. There was only one answer, but Bucky had to say it.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky whispered.  
  
“What?” Steve asked. “What was that?”  
  
“You oughta let me come,” Bucky panted, red faced. “Please, Stevie, let me,” he begged.  
  
“Look me in the eye,” Steve ordered.  
  
Bucky shuddered, almost losing his rhythm on Steve, but he met Steve’s eyes with his own, blown out gaze.    
  
“Say, I’m your good boy, Stevie,” Steve prompted.  
  
“Stevie!  Oh, Stevie, I’m your good boy,” Bucky gasped.    
  
“That’s right sweetheart,” Steve said proudly. “Come now, make yourself come all over me, Bucky.”  
  
Bucky’s back arched, and his body seized, and he came, dripping pearls all over Steve. His ass felt fantastic, so tight, rippling around Steve.  
  
Bucky collapsed forward, and Steve rolled him onto his back.  He gave Bucky a few finishing thrusts that made Bucky hiss, and then pulled out, pulling hard on himself a few times and spurting his come all over Bucky, marking Bucky as his own, forever.  
  
“Mine,” Steve said, kissing Bucky’s sweaty, tear-stained face.  “You’re mine, all mine.”  
  
“Yours,” Bucky said, already sinking into peaceful, dreamless sleep.    
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
   
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to know what you think, positives or negatives. Thanks for reading!


End file.
